Happy Birthday (Midwife at Midnight)

Over this past weekend, we've been celebrating the first "birthday" of our new church, the Centro Cristiano de Alhaurín. One leader commented that life with a baby church is not unlike life with a one year old child: we have a name now and we're getting to know our unique identity, we're learning how to walk and take steps of faith, we're getting to know the members of our family better, and we're very much in love with our (heavenly) Dad. This weekend was a time of giving thanks to God for all that He has done in and through us over the past year... and also a time of considering one or two words that He is giving us about our future steps as a family of believers in this town and this nation.

Little did I suspect that a different kind of "birthday" was awaiting me when we arrived home from church last night. Tamba was waiting for us on the doorstep and, as soon as we got indoors, she went upstairs to my bedroom and started to miaow and cry. I went up to check on her because she had arrived home last week with rather a swollen stomach; I had decided it was either a bad case of tapeworm (from eating too many raw mice while I was gone!) or perhaps she was pregnant. We had just decided yesterday that we might need to take her to see the vet this week.

Anyway, it soon became obvious that she was in labour, and by around 11 pm the first little boy was born; another followed half an hour later, and then a third little kitten popped out at about midnight. After some time, as they began to suckle and Tamba settled down purring again, I switched off the light and went to bed.... but about an hour and a half later, there was another loud yell, and I saw that a fourth kitten had been born - a little girl, this time (at least, as far as I could discern the gender of the newborns; apparently you can't be certain until they're three or four weeks old.)

At the church service, we'd been thanking God for the spiritual "new births" of various friends who had become Christians over the past year. I didn't expect some literal new births right there in my own bedroom. So now Sue and I are assuming our new and unexpected role as "grandparents." In a couple of months' time, we'll be looking for homes for the little ones, and then looking into getting Tamba spayed, so that any further new births we experience this year will only be the spiritual kind.

Of winter and watering...

Well, I don’t think it’s really spring yet, but we’re already beginning to see some blossoms appearing here in the south of Spain. We haven’t had snow like in more northern parts of the continent, but there has been so much rain over the past few months that the government has now announced that last year’s drought is officially over and all the reservoirs are full again.

This morning in my quiet time, I read Isaiah 55 verse 10, which says that the snow and the rain both have the purpose of watering the earth, making it bud and flourish, so that it yields seed for sowing and food for eating. After spending three weeks in Norway, where there was so much snow that you couldn’t even see any plants, it made me think about the fact that there are spiritual “seasons” in our lives, just as there are physical seasons in the world around us. This verse is a reminder that even the winter snow waters the seed that God has deposited in our life, and prepares the ground for fruitfulness, so that it will produce even more seed in the future.

When the snows come, at first they “block” everything, and no growth can penetrate their cold hardness... but when they finally melt, that same snow that was previously a blockage becomes the very thing that causes watering and fruitfulness. Likewise, any winter seasons that come in our lives, as hard and unyielding as they may be, and as much as they may block our fruit for a short while, can be “turned to good” by God, and be the very things that water and strengthen the deposit of His word and His promises in our lives. Because, as verse 11 explains, it is the word of God that really brings fruitfulness, as we allow it to take root in our hearts and continue to hold on to God, even amidst the harshness of winter when it comes.

Back home again

In just over four hours, I flew on Monday from the north of Europe to the south, and from thick snow to gentle sunshine. As my plane began to descend into Málaga, I had a surreal moment when I caught a glimpse of mountains and coastline, and realised that it looked incredibly similar to the Western Cape. (I've flown into Cape Town airport more than any other airport in the world - nearly fifty times - and each time I glimpsed Table Mountain or the familiar outline of the False Bay coastline, there was always such a wonderful sense of coming home again.) Monday was strange because, even though the landscape was kind of similar, I realised that there was nothing at all that I recognised; nothing looked familiar, because I haven't lived here long enough, or flown into this airport often enough, for it to have gained the familiarity of "coming home."

Something rather interesting has happened each time that I've come home to Alhaurín over the past few months. On my first day back, "Tamba" (the cat I wrote about on 10th November) always finds me somehow in the street, or just appears on our doorstep and makes herself at home again. This time, though, my flat mate told me that she hadn't seen the cat for the whole three weeks I'd been gone in Norway, even though she'd occasionally put out some food for her. It seemed that this time she'd disappeared for good.

Anyway, I unpacked my suitcase and then headed up to the supermarket to buy some bits and pieces.... and, as I was walking home again, imagine my surprise when I suddenly heard a loud miaow, and there was Tamba, following at my heels like a dog. She ran all the way to our house and waited there until I opened the door for her. Over these past two days, the purring has been so loud, that I half imagined the neighbours could hear it! As far as Tamba is concerned, we're both "back home again."

Soon heading south...

Well, things got colder still, and in the end my "all-time low" was a day here in Grimerud when the thermometer registered minus twenty six degrees. The temperature is slightly higher in Oslo, and it will be warmer still when I get back to Spain. I'm more a fan of warm weather than of sub-zero temperatures, and so I'm quite looking forward to that, even though I've enjoyed the beauty of the snowy landscapes during these three weeks in Norway.

The first block of our PCYM is over now and most of the students are travelling back home today. It's been a very rich time, and we're looking forward to learning even more things with God when we come together in five weeks time for the second block of the course. In the meantime, though, I'll be travelling back to Spain on Monday, and will be there for the next five weeks. 

An all time low...

It's official: today is the coldest day of my whole life!!

More than twenty years ago, during a cold winter spell in the north of France, I experienced a day when the temperature was minus 22 degrees. This morning, here in Grimerud, we looked at the thermometer and saw that the temperature was minus 23. That means that today is officially the coldest day I have experienced in almost half a century of life on planet earth. But the sun is also shining (for a change) which makes the sky blue, and the frozen snow on the trees is really beautiful. Here are a couple of photos taken at lunchtime today.